She had been the last gwerin advisor in Marka, going to the city to shelter in the Emperor's protection and arriving as the last three official gwerins left. She liked to say she had entered Marka by the East Gate as the other three left by the West. Emperor Rono kept her presence in the city quiet, commanding his scribes to ensure her presence was never recorded.
"The claim is the least of my worries," he replied, "yet you demand I press it. Branad renounced it. Not a good result, but it happened."
Fareen nodded. "Renounced it on behalf of himself and his descendants. You are not a descendant."
Fareen stayed in Marka for five years, leaving only as the Empire began to collapse the day of Rono's murder. She took Rono's nephew with her, and brought him to Sandester. Nazvasta's potential claim originated with that young man, allegedly smuggled out of Marka in a basket.
"Branad was captured in battle by Marcus Vintner and the claim renounced before Marka's Senate." Nazvasta shook his head. "There's no way around it."
"Even now Marcus works to secure his claim at the sylph's expense."
"Zenepha." A sylph-Emperor.
"Mikhan was wise to accept the post of Marshal of Marka," continued Fareen. "He helps keep Marcus off the Throne."
"The sylph-Emperor demanded Sandester's submission to his rule."
The gwerin smiled. "Which you supplied. The Senate was not pleased, but they acquiesced."
"Eventually." Nazvasta knew Sandester's Senate was unhappy at its demotion to provincial status.
Fareen's eyes flickered to the small wooden box. "You still have Marcus Vintner's letter. You are not going to accept his offer?"
Nazvasta laughed. "A letter offering what is already mine. Sandester has accepted the Emperor's authority, not Marcus's. My title of Steward is sufficient, Viceroy means nothing to me." Marcus claimed that his own prefectures and those of Branad were now united under one rule. His. "I've not replied."
Fareen smiled. "Good. If you accept his offer, you recognize his claim over your own."
Nazvasta never knew why this gwerin wanted to see Marcus Vintner's claim ground to dust. Perhaps something had happened to her in Marka. Perhaps she doubted his pedigree. She never responded to his questions, only stated that Sandester's claim was the best for a future Markan Empire. Perhaps she wanted to be the first – or only? – gwerin advisor in a resurgent Marka.
"Will you raise the dragon's head banner?" asked Fareen.
"Not while Zenepha holds the Throne."
"He is only a caretaker. Marcus Vintner is there, scheming and politicking."
"A sylph ruling humans is a temporary aberration. I expect he's held on a tight leash."
"Nobody knows who holds the other end of this alleged leash," replied Fareen. "That suggests nobody does, which in turn indicates there is no leash."
Nazvasta changed the subject. "And the sylph scouts. Has the world gone mad?"
Fareen laughed. "Annada and Tennen were quite explicit in their report. An excellent idea."
"Several beggars were almost lynched when the story of sylph scouts mutated into a story of sylphs spying for Marcus on our streets." Nazvasta grimaced. No matter how distasteful beggars might be, they did not deserve to be lynched on a rumor. And they were only sylphs, with no chance of defending themselves.
"You stamped down on it."
"Yes."
"And now there is a new threat?" Fareen's pale brown eyes gleamed. She loved having problems to puzzle over.
"A threat to Trenvera."
"Our cushion."
A buffer between Sandester and Calcan, the Kingdom of Trenvera had kept the warring factions apart. That the Vintners had never fought a battle on its soil stood as testimony to the effectiveness of its diplomacy.
"Prince Mikel warns that Re Taura's army has grown so large that he fears Trenvera is the intended target."
"Or Calcan. Or us."
"If it's Calcan, that's their problem." Nazvasta was sharper than intended, so smiled to take the edge from his words. "I've sent Field Captain Tennen to Maturia and other armies to our coastal prefectures. If Mikel requests assistance, I've more men to send there."
Fareen grimaced.
"I know." Nazvasta showed his teeth. "Potential repercussions from Calcan. But we can't let Trenvera fall to a third party."
"Espionage in Re Taura has failed." Fareen's eyes flickered to the small box. She had, of course, read all the correspondence. "Someone in Re Taura is good at unmasking infiltrators. So nobody knows the Mametain's intentions."
"If Trenvera's spies fail, I'm sure ours would fail too. I will not send men to their deaths unnecessarily."
Fareen nodded. "The risk outweighs any chance of success. I agree." She grinned again. "Isn't life fun?"
***
IV: Re Taura
Tektu stared across a mila of windblown water to the City of Taura, capital of Re Taura. Her sylphic face contorted as she wrinkled her nose and twitched her earpoints. She reveled in the fresh breeze, but could not shake off her feeling of unease.
Castle Beren stood on what used to be the small island of Re Beren, separate from, yet all but surrounded by, the main island of Re Taura. A previous Mametain had built a causeway to link the two. Despite this, it still felt like an island, sheltered by its larger sibling on three sides, with the Eastern Sea to the fourth.
Tektu's head swiveled briefly west, towards the mainland, before her attention returned to the harbor.
Soldiers patrolled the ramparts of Castle Beren, though none approached her. Even other sylphs – especially other sylphs – gave her a wide berth.
Let them hate, so long as they feared.
Her silver-gray eyes focused briefly as the door onto the walkway opened, but it was not the Mametain. Not yet.
Masts hid the buildings beyond Taura's harbor, betraying the presence of a large number of ships. Beyond the city walls, thousands of soldiers practiced their maneuvers, preparing for the planned invasion of Trenvera, intended to drive a wedge between the two branches of the Vintner family and help throw the reemerging Markan Empire into disarray. It did not matter to her that a sylph sat on the Markan Throne. Her real masters did not want to see the Markan Empire rise again. Ever.
A hand closed on her shoulder and she turned to stare into the face of the Mametain. His dark eyes glittered at her.
"Something is wrong?" asked Nijen da Re Taura.
"A feeling," she replied. Her earpoints gave a violent twitch as she shrugged. "You should allow me to interrogate the spy Talnan again."
The sylph carrying refreshments for the Mametain stared at Tektu and her eyes widened in fright. She could probably sense what Tektu really was. Which did not bother Tektu in the slightest. After all, who would believe the word of a sylph over that of her owner? She held real power, as those who fell foul of her quickly learned.
"Thank you, Mya." Nijen smiled. At a nod, the serving sylph scuttled away, eyes still wide.
The Mametain looked down at Tektu over his drink. "I will arrange it," he promised. "This afternoon. Try not to kill this one too quickly."
Tektu managed a bow. "Se bata, henyi." She licked her lips in anticipation.
***
Mya crouched over the furthest privy and chewed the edge of her tunic to muffle her moans. She rocked on her heels and fought tears. She had started at Castle Beren the same day as her owner, Talnan.
He worked for the King of Trenvera, the latest in a line of spies sent to Re Taura to try and discover the Mametain's plans. And now a prisoner.
She held no illusions; when Tektu had finished with him, her owner would die. She was more terrified for him than for herself. If he failed to keep her existence a secret, she hoped her death would come swiftly so she could continue to serve him in the next life.
Execution as a spy terrified her less than the prospect of spending the rest of her life here, under Tektu's eye. Even worse, wondering if Tektu and the Mametain knew the truth. Might they suspect her reasons i
f she asked to be released from service? Not unusual in itself; Castle Beren had a high turnover of sylphs, despite the alternative work being worse than at the castle. But if anyone noticed she had started here the same day as her owner, questions would be asked.
She dried her eyes with her tunic and stood. She forced herself to feel happy so her earpoints could not betray her true feelings. The meal break neared its end and she must return to work. She wanted nobody to find her crying here.
She must carry on as if life held nothing more for her other than working for the Mametain. She must find her own way out.
***
"They send spy after spy after spy. They obviously know something's going on." Nijen da Re Taura looked at his companion, sprawled comfortably in the easy chair opposite. They were quite alone, the loyal Tektu still dealing with a now dead spy.
The fire burned cheerfully, banishing all cold. The study was oak-paneled to half height, the stone walls rendered and whitewashed above that. A rug lay between the two chairs and a large desk stood behind them.
"They're supposed to know something's going on, that's the point of your army. Last year's siege was an unfortunate setback, nothing more. We have spent the winter gathering an army large and competent enough to try again."
"The rumor is that Hingast is dead."
"Just rumor. He is alive and well, I assure you."
Nijen only just restrained a shudder. It was impossible to like the man sitting in his study and equally difficult to trust him. Yet trust him he must, for without him Nijen would still be roving the lands selling his sword to the highest bidder. "It is only a matter of time before they decide they want to try to replace me, or else send one of the Gifted."
The other man snorted in contempt.
The Mametain's dark eyes sparkled with anger. "The Gifted may be easy for you to deal with, but not for me. I'm a swordsman, not a sorcerer."
"The opportunity was offered." Long, iron-gray hair swayed as he shook his head, his blue eyes boring into Nijen. "I have something for you."
A pocket suddenly bulged as he put his hand into it. As if something had only that moment appeared. Sorcery had just been used.
Nijen stared at his companion's hand. "A bottle."
The other man smiled. "You might call it essence of sorcery. Rub a small amount onto your hands, make a throwing motion... like so... and a ball of fire will appear. Sufficient to defend yourself, I suggest."
"The throwing motion is necessary?" asked Nijen.
"For an adept, no. But you are not an adept."
Nijen leaned forward and took the gift. "Essence of sorcery?" He looked as if he thought the bottle might melt into his hand.
"Only two living can make it." The smile widened. "Be warned, anything you produce can be deflected or even reflected back at you." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "A rebounding flame made from this essence will have very unpleasant consequences." The man abruptly stood and his voice returned to normal. "Continue as before, extract information from the spies and let Tektu kill them if necessary." A small frown furrowed his brow for a moment, as if unsure exactly how Tektu could do the things she did. "When Marka and her allies finally move against you, I'll be ready to move against them. Be well."
Nijen saw something briefly spin in the air and glimpsed a tent interior. He looked into the startled eyes of a young woman before his companion left him alone.
He carefully put the bottle on his desk. Visits from Dervra were supposed to reassure him, but he was yet to feel reassured from any meeting. If anything, he felt worse. He did not want Marka and her allies to move against him.
Not for the first time, he silently thanked all the gods that deep water separated Re Taura from the continent.
***
V: The Mission
"I understand someone wasted her winter teaching you to read and write."
Neptarik-y-Balnus stared at Morran Fynn and wondered why one of Marcus Vintner's clerks should make him so uneasy. Not wanting to speak, he nodded his head. Not only had Tahena Mithon taught him his letters, but she had also tried to find him a wife.
Sandev's own sylph – Caya – had turned her nose up at him. She had her own worries and two other male sylphs chasing her affections. Not that she seemed particularly interested in them, either.
Breeding female sylphs were often very choosy when it came to a husband. Most Tahena found knew Neptarik liked his gambling and believed he could never stay with just one wife. Or two. They were friendly, but no more.
Neptarik needed no encouragement to keep practicing his letters; his literacy had opened doors to a new world. He must utilize this new skill as much as possible.
He was not alone in the clerk's study.
Staff Captain Balnus, Neptarik's owner, stood beside his scout, together with Verdin Vintner, son of a claimant to the Markan Throne. Son of a dead claimant to the Markan Throne. A young man who apparently wanted to cover himself with glory while reuniting Marka's lost Empire.
So long as it was only glory he covered himself with and not blood. And if blood, preferably not Neptarik's.
Fynn's desk stood at the opposite end of the room from the fire and visitors had to sit facing him, their backs to the warming blaze.
Another sylph was present, curled up on a rug and probably as close to the flames as she dared. Neptarik could not see much of her, except that she was rather plainly dressed. She probably belonged to Fynn and the scout thought her indulged to spend her time asleep instead of working.
He glanced up as Balnus placed a protective hand on his shoulder.
"He learned well and quickly," he said, expression daring Fynn to say anything different.
Fynn nodded. "His Majesty is concerned by news received from the Overseas Office of Trenvera."
Neptarik stared. The Majesty Fynn referred to was not Zenepha, for he always named the sylph. He spoke of Marcus Vintner.
Fynn continued. "The Mametain of Re Taura plans invasion. Given his location, there are only three possible targets: Trenvera, Sandester or Calcan. Most likely Trenvera."
Neptarik eyed Fynn as if he had never before seen him. An unremarkable man, anyone might pass him several times a day and never remember or even notice his presence. His expression was neutral, no threat to anyone. His clothes were clean and plain, with nothing to mark him out in any way. But he discussed these threats as if he had a right to know of them. No ordinary clerk.
Fynn continued. "Trenvera's spies in Re Taura have an unfortunate habit of disappearing. The King has decided to send no more." He sniffed. "Plans should always be reevaluated whenever an agent is lost."
Neptarik exchanged a look with his owner.
Verdin nodded. "Prince Mikel is Trenvera's spymaster."
"That may be so."
Neptarik changed his mind about Fynn's unremarkableness. Those pale blue eyes were flint as Verdin spoke. He looked over his shoulder at the sylph sleeping in front of the fire.
"There is something His Majesty wants us to do?" asked Balnus.
Fynn steepled his fingers. "We must establish the Mametain's intentions, and to do that, we must send people to Re Taura. Infiltrating Castle Beren is no easy task and I don't recommend sending a human to do it, as they have all been compromised."
"So you will send a sylph." Balnus's eyes hardened and his grip tightened on Neptarik's shoulder. "My sylph."
Fynn nodded. "There is a steady turnover of sylph servants in Castle Beren. Many leave, or ask to be released from service. Some may even run away. Who knows why; they're not mistreated. But they are frightened of something or someone there. They prefer harder work, rather than enjoy an easier time in domestic service. Either way, the turnover of sylphs is higher than of humans, which means it is easier to insert a sylph. But I need an exceptional sylph and there are not many of those."
Neptarik's earpoints twitched in pride.
Fynn smiled. "A sylph used to operating alone, which means a scout. A courageous sylph. Is
that a field commendation stud in his collar? I thought so. A sylph who knows which plans to steal, so one who is literate. My list of candidates has one name on it."
"You can't have him," said Balnus.
"When do I start?" asked Neptarik, at the same moment.
Fynn smiled as sylph and owner responded in opposite ways. Neptarik wondered if the man had already predicted the responses.
"Your protectiveness is commendable," Fynn told Balnus. "Which is why you will travel with Neptarik. However, you must not attempt to enter the Mametain's service."
"Why do you need me?" asked Verdin.
"There is unrest among the population. It seems they are not altogether happy with the new Mametain. We want to discover what happened to the old one and his family."
Verdin nodded. "You want to replace the existing Mametain."
"With the old one, yes. I'm not suggesting you claim a new Throne."
Verdin spread his hands. "My loyalties are to Marka."
"I'm glad to hear it. If you accept this assignment, I will arrange more detailed briefings for each of you. Everything we know. Have I picked the right people?"
"When do I start?" repeated Neptarik. His eyes danced, earpoints bolt upright in anticipation of adventure.
"I'm up for it," added Verdin.
Balnus sighed. "Answer the question. When do we start?"
Fynn gave another smile. "In a few days. I'll send for you later this evening, when you will be briefed in more detail."
Fynn watched them leave his study. Only Neptarik glanced at the still sleeping sylph as he left. The clerk leaned forward on his arms.
"Well, Smudge?"
The sylph, who had spent the entire time before the fire, sat up the moment the door closed behind the visitors. Her eponymous dark blue birthmark looked prominent in this light, very much like an ink stain spreading across her right cheek from nose to ear. Spots of it were visible on her earpoint. "The boy is impressive, enya," she replied. "As I told you."
Fynn's smile was warm. "How could I function as spymaster without you? You've done very well to bring those three to my attention. Choca tonight."
Smudge grinned. She had said what she must and needed say no more.
***
VI: Shadow Riders